


Commander Wolffe Teaches a Lesson

by sharkcar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Clone Sex, Clone Wars, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drinking, Drugs, Jokes, Language, Languages and Linguistics, Military, Misogyny, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prostitution, Rape Culture, Slang, Unconventional Relationship, clone culture, lewd behavior, pharmaceuticals, respect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkcar/pseuds/sharkcar
Summary: Commander Wolffe is at the base to pick up his prescriptions and overhears a batch of rookies being disrespectful about women. Seeing an opportunity for some fun, he sets up a prank that will give the boys a night they will never forget.





	

It all started when I was at the base because I had to pick up a prescription for anti-anxiety pills. It was late in the war and I had been medicated pretty heavily just to keep me fit for duty. Those Kaminoan doctors did love their pharmaceuticals. They’d invented and developed most of them on the Republic’s credits and tested them on us clone soldiers. I had prescription sedatives for sleep, anti-anxiety pills for nerves, some pills to help me with a spice addiction, some more pills to help with an alcohol addiction, painkillers for injuries, amphetamines for special or dangerous missions. They were issued to us, so taking them was not always voluntary on our part. For the Kaminoan cloners who had made us, the meds were maintenance that went in to keeping their products, us, in fighting form for the customers of the Republic.  
  
I was at the military hospital so often that it was getting to the point where I think the Kaminoan doctors could almost tell me apart from other clones. That’s a joke, by the way. Kaminoans could never tell us apart. I had a gigantic face scar and a prosthetic eye, but they still had to check my number every time. Those cloners made us and to them, we were as indistinguishable as ants. It made for a strange relationship growing up. When we were kids, my batch mates and I used to trade our numbered shirts, just to see if we could. That was the kind of innocent nonsense that passed for humor among us Fett clones then.  
  
Getting prescriptions was an easy transaction. I’d get a little physical, the doctor would write some notes. Then she’d ask, “How are you feeling,” check her notes, “CC-3636?”  
  
“Fit for duty, doctor.” I would respond.  
  
“Fine, you can pick up your prescriptions at the desk on the way out.”  
  
I’d always try to see if I could get any additional stuff. “Doctor, I hear they’re testing a new anti-depressant. I have been feeling some general malaise. Should I be on the new drug?”  
  
“I will have the nurse give you some samples.” The doctor would say and then she’d walk out. The nurse was a brother of mine, another clone, who would give me a bag full of whatever the new stuff was, as well as my chits for the pharmacy.  
  
Now, I wasn’t taking the pills myself, not all of them anyway. Good meds like I had could be re-sold for a respectable amount of money to the drug dealers at the clone bar, 79’s. The pills were popular even among the natural born citizens of Coruscant and they were dealt at an astronomical markup. War fatigue was making people seek an escape. The dealers would take the pills and pay us in spice, or credits, or girls. Whatever our addictions were. We clones honestly had no need for money to survive, the Republic supported us. So whenever we had a chance, we’d smoke, gamble, and screw money away in places that allowed it. I did all three. We clones were so sharply segregated from the rest of society that illicit fun was really the only kind of fun we could have. Whenever I was off duty, I always had a lot of fun. You only get one life after all.  
  
I had a girlfriend. C.C. was a well-known Twi’lek hooker who worked 79’s. She sponged medications off me. She loved the anti-anxiety pills especially. We had been medicating together since the very first night I met her. It was months before I even worked up the courage to ask her for a trick. We had been more or less living together since the first year of the war. She spent most of her time alone while I was off killing for the Republic. Whenever I was on leave, I’d sleep at her place. During the day we acted like normal people, eating, going out, and talking. At night I drank while she plied her trade. I think we both saw something kindred in each other, like the desperate need to enjoy whatever time we had to ourselves, as we tried to drown out the pain caused by the things we’d been forced to do for a living. We would spend the entire time together toasted. She dealt spice, which was my preference. We had a perfect substance symbiosis. Also, the sex was amazing, since we both lived in constant awareness that we could die senselessly any day. Everything that made us happy was more precious because of how consistently miserable we were in general. We clung to each other like nauseous drunks trying to walk home. It was something like love.  
  
Anyway, I was in the hospital waiting area, listening for my number to be called. I started overhearing this crop of shinies, that is, new recruits fresh from Kamino. They were sitting there with their numbers waiting to get their vaccination against the Vindese parasite. This parasite was supposedly some kind of microbe that could cause brain swelling. It had made some brothers I knew crazy. Like, murderously insane. Fives had died, shot by his own brothers while he raved about some conspiracy and waved a blaster around. I hated the thought of going out that way. I wasn’t afraid of dying, but I absolutely hated the idea of losing my sanity first.  
  
I was sitting in a corner flipping through my player pod to find some music and the shinies were speaking loudly. I wasn’t intending to eavesdrop, but the conversation became very interesting almost immediately. So I tuned in. None of these rookies had ever been to Coruscant, they had probably never been to a world besides Kamino. None had probably ever before gotten drunk, been given credits to spend, or touched a female. Their lives were about to get real, I thought amusedly.  
  
I had been a first timer once. That was only a little more than two years before. Now I was high on spice, after coming from my whore girlfriend’s house, to get medication from the army that I would probably snort or sell. My time in the big wide universe had done a number on me. It was hard not to laugh at that kind of juxtaposition. I was like the guy coming out of a disgusting bathroom telling the next guy in line, “Don’t go in there!”  
  
I could tell these little guys were poseurs. I like to think that I, and the other early batchers from Kamino, had been more timidly curious and innocent. The rapid aging they engineered us with had made us look thirty, but we were really still scared ten years olds. Our immediate awareness of our own ignorance had made us humble. There were many rules of conduct governing our behavior and although we didn’t always obey them, we had been careful as we adapted ways around them. Older clones had also been measured in their vices in the early days. Even me.  
  
But education on Kamino had slipped as recruits were commissioned as young as seven. They were given growth hormones, which had made them more aggressive. They had less formal education than we’d had. Being young, they naturally had less self-restraint. These newer shinies had also heard plenty about life on the outside from brothers who returned to pick up recruits.  
  
Those returning guys, unfortunately myself included, had wanted to sound knowledgeable and hardcore, so we would tell the young guys all manner of bantha manure about life on the outside. We’d play up the party stories and leave out most of the stuff we actually did, because honestly, who wants to hear about a three day tank march on Khorm when I could tell you about that time I got high on amphetamines and had three hookers at once? Did I say I…I meant someone. Someone could tell you that story. Probably me. Okay, I did that. But the point was…what was I talking about? Oh yeah, kids today.  
  
So, after listening to our stories, shinies started to feel cocksure, like they were street smart because they had heard things. They swaggered in imitation of us and tried to act tough. Gradually, they had gotten the message that being disrespectful was badass. So they had become less courteous to their commanding officers and their brothers. Less respectful of people in general. Their vices immediately were taken to excess. We’d had a rash of overdoses among the new recruits and some alcohol poisonings. The later clone generations were really turning into a disgrace.  
  
Yeah, yeah. Tell me another one grandpa. Jeez, I was twelve.  
  
Now, cluelessness is not a crime, but unapologetic ignorance can be dangerous if you turn it on others. The shinies in the waiting room seemed to have directed their hubris at a particular segment of society. They were talking about how they were going to outsmart the system and get whatever they wanted from women practically for free. Like they were entitled to get laid and they should be able to do whatever they wanted.  
  
It was my strict belief that you can’t just use women, not even whores, you have to earn it. Even a whore has the right to decide if you were worth her time. In clone society, there were millions of guys and very few women who would have us. So the whores had to be respected or you were going to be taking cold showers. I considered the boys’ assumptions that they could treat women badly to be a bit of a personal affront. We did share a face, so it was like seeing myself say dumb shit. I don’t know why they were picking on women. Maybe it made them feel less helpless. After all, we were considered the lowest segment of society, right down there with criminal scum. Though, how did it help us, I wondered, to turn our anger on other people, especially the prostitutes, who were as low as we were?  
  
I started sizing up the boys as I listened. They spoke a lot in clone slang, which was a fairly developed dialect by then. We had to be able to talk about forbidden things, like sex or drugs or gambling or outside food, so we had code words. We all understood it but shinies were not entirely fluent. Being sheltered in the cloning facility, they had not encountered many of the words since there was a lot they didn’t know about. Some words they did know correctly, but I recognized some gaps. Point was, even what they knew, they were unsure of. But they were all pretending they knew way more than they did, in order to not sound ignorant. It wasn’t long before I decided that the situation called for some mischief.  
  
Shiny 1 was in the middle of telling his friends his plans for the evening. They were enlisted guys, regular light infantry. The group could have been batch mates, there were five of them, which was the standard number. That meant they’d probably had seen each other every day of their lives.  
  
Shiny 1 was the one who was the loudest and fancied himself the alpha of the group. “Alright, let’s talk strategy. This one brother told me, the uglier COTR’s will talk to you no matter what, they’ll be flattered. They’re the easy ones. They’ll also let you do more. I say we start with them and work our ways up.” COTR was ‘Citizens of the Republic’. It was slang for women.  
  
Shiny 2 shook his head, but Shiny 3 slapped Shiny 1’s hand and said, “If you watch which ones are the most hary baly, those ones you can just walk out with. Another brother said that you can speed things along if you slip a little mister misty in the drink.” Hary baly was really haryc b’aalyc, a Mando’a term we’d picked up from our old teachers from before the war. It meant drunk. Mister misty was a sleeping sedative. Most clones had a prescription for them, since most of us had the nightmares and insomnia. I honestly didn’t know if the boys realized that what they were discussing was a crime. They did seem stupid enough to not be aware of that. I wondered, who was the clown who had suggested that one to them?  
  
Shiny 4 joined in, “I’ll get one of the floozies, then once we’re done and she asks for the bars, I’ll tell her I don’t have anything. I mean, what’s she going to do? Go to the po-po?” ‘Floozy’ really meant hooker. And one of those ‘floozies’ only had to tell any one of the other brothers in the bar that you’d stiffed her and they’d beat you until you paid. You didn’t mess with the few women who would sleep with us. We needed their goodwill more than we needed a fricking light infantry jackass to be fit for duty. Bars meant Republic credits, which were rectangular. I think po-po meant police. But actually, we usually called them See-sefs, for Coruscant Security Force. They couldn’t have known that.  
  
Shiny 1 was laughing. “Man, I wanna get one and start in the compactor and finish with the airlock.” I am not explaining that. It’s disgusting.  
  
Shiny 2 was as horrified as I was, “Why the hell would you want that?” Right? Thank you.  
  
Shiny 1 answered, “Doesn’t it sound like a turn on to dish out a little humiliation?” He mimed spanking someone from behind or at least, I think that’s what he was miming. Hard to tell. He was doing it badly.  
  
A third shiny wondered, “Why does that give you the old ration stick?” The old ration stick. That was a good one. I decided to start using it.  
  
Shiny 1 looked puzzled, “What do you like?”  
  
Shiny 3 raised his eyebrows, “I could go for the droideka. Something about that is hot. I don’t even care what she looks like. I don’t even care about the species. I’d go sideways on a hammerhead.” That meant…no, never mind.  
  
Shiny 1 wrinkled his nose, “No way, humanoids only. They got the best junkyards if you catch my drift.” No Shiny 1, I did not. In clone slang ‘junkyard’ is not a thing. Although, I resolved to come up with a ludicrous meaning for it and tell him later that it was the actual meaning. I just wanted to see how fast I’d see the term come back around.  
  
Shiny 3 laughed, “Oh, you want to go compactor to airlock and I’m disgusting?” Yes, you are still disgusting.  
  
Shiny 4 lifted his chin, “I want to get a good dianoga. Just to get things started.” What? I mean…what? If I was understanding that correctly, eew.  
  
Shiny 2 raised his palms, “Whoa, I think most of us just want it straight up. You guys are freaks.” Right, Shiny 2. Except I did like the droideka. Like a lot. Great, now I had the old ration stick.  
  
Shiny 1 waved his hand, “No, you pay for it, you should get to do whatever you want.” No, asscrab.  
  
Shiny 2 objected, “Most of us don’t want to do weird things.” Thank you. Although, define weird. Like, crazy positions or like getting old one eye stuck in a bottle? There are degrees of weird.  
  
Shiny 3 scoffed, “Lies.” Lies. We all have something. But still, you can’t be impolite. If she’s okay with it, fine, but never assume. And I never got myself stuck in a bottle. That was another brother. No really, it was.  
  
Shiny 5 finally spoke up, “Some of the floozies are famous. That’s what I heard. Cost you your whole kit, but supposedly they’re worth it.” ‘Kit’ was just the little box of credits they issued you for leave time. I laughed internally and shook my head. They were worth it, kid. If you wanted a good experience before you got your head blown off on some Outer Rim rock, it was a good way to spend a few happy minutes for once. You wouldn’t believe it because of the low position of clones in society in general, but we clones attracted some talented prostitutes. Servicing us was certainly lucrative. They were our celebrities.  
  
Shiny 2 was attempting to sound knowledgeable, “I guess most pf the pro COTR’s are tail heads.” That was true, actually, most professional women on Coruscant were Twi’leks. But there were humans and other species, too. I did a Pauan once. There are things you can’t do with them. They have sharp teeth.  
  
Shiny 4 asked, “Are you really not supposed to pull on a chippy’s extentions?” Yes. Do not pull on a Twi’lek’s lekku. They’re sensitive.  
  
Shiny 2 was still maintaining his position of authority, “I don’t think that’s true.” That’s it, Shiny 2, I thought, we are no longer friends. You didn’t pull on them, you idiot, you would hurt them. But they did, however, like them stroked. This one time…no. Focus.  
  
Shiny 3 smiled, finding a neutral topic, “Which color tail head do you think is the most geil?” For ever loving crap’s sake!  
  
Shiny 1 nodded, “I hear the green ones are the best candy.” He mimed something else. I wished they would stop. Their attempts at lewd gestures were laughable. I swear they were making most of them up, and from a place of inexperience with the very acts they were attempting to reference. I pinched the bridge of my nose to keep myself from laughing.  
  
Shiny 3 decided to contribute some more to the discussion, “Supposedly the pink ones are the dumbest. Have you heard any dumb pink jokes?” He laughed. For crapping crap’s sake! Now, I liked stupid jokes as much as anyone. But just because dumb pink jokes existed didn’t mean the stereotype was true. Anyway, we had more dumb shiny jokes than anything else.  
  
Shiny 4 asked, “So where should we go? The Tchun Tchin?” The brothel was at least a safe environment for first timers. But I didn’t want them to go there. I really wanted to see how this shook out.  
  
Shiny 3 shook his head, “We’re going to 79’s. I’m gonna give it to a COTR so good, she’ll be paying me.” HAHA! For crap’s sake. I was so looking forward to that night.  
  
Shiny 2 scoffed, “She’ll pay you to not put it into her airlock.” He would never get near her compactor, much less her airlock, once I had my say, I smirked.  
  
Shiny 3 started miming, “I’m gonna ride one like a carriage, just get behind one and grab them by the extensions.”  
  
Shiny 5 offered, “Maybe we can all get a discount if we all use her together.” That’s it, they all had it coming.  
  
I got up and walked over to them. I have a prosthetic eye, which is pretty distinctive. I knew they would recognize me. I was a well-known guy among clones. “Excuse me gentlemen, I’m Commander Wolffe of the 104th. I couldn’t help but overhear, but I am always glad to meet a fresh crop of shinies from Kamino. Would you permit me to show you around 79’s? I would be happy to introduce you to some of our fine citizens of the Republic and get you set up.”  
  
It was a big honor for enlisted guys to have an officer negotiate for them. Being at a table with a Commander gave them a better chance to get a place on a girl’s roster than they would have alone. One of the reasons I was famous was because I provided protection to girls. I told the girls who was safe to go with and who was not. Every brother wanted to be my friend. The shinies accepted gratefully.  
  
I told them to meet me at 79’s that night at ten. I then went straight home after the hospital. I had made sure to pick C.C. up some flowers and lunch from the Twi’lek bodega. My buddy Crazy Nilo ran it, so I could buy things there. The flowers I wanted to give to C.C. as an apology for my brothers’ behavior, even if she hadn’t been there to hear what they’d said. She was subjected to guys like this night after night, I realized.  
  
C.C. was at home and a few of the other girls had come over to visit and bitch about work. C.C. called them ‘union meetings’. They were laughing and shouting loudly in Twi’leki. I came in to a barrage of flirtatious greetings. I’d slept with most of them, just like C.C. had slept with most of my brothers. So I had no problem relaxing with the crowd. I put the flowers in a vase with water and took my energy drink out of the bag and left the lunch on the counter. I went to the couches and sat down next to C.C., kissing her and putting my arm around her. “I got you vegetable samallis.”  
  
“What’s that smirk about?” she asked me as I cracked open my drink.  
  
It was really more of a grin, “I’m so glad you asked. And I’m glad you ladies are here.” I recounted the conversation I’d heard and I told them that we would see the unsuspecting morons later. I enlisted the girls’ help, but to be honest, they contributed a lot of the ideas.  
  
On the walk over to 79’s, the girls and I went shopping at the party supply store. They said they needed props. When we got to the bar, every girl who would have contact with our boys was aware of the plan. By the time the five shinies arrived, C.C. and I already had a table. The other girls were waiting with us, still whispering new ideas among themselves and looking at the shinies hungrily.  
  
“Hi guys.” C.C. smiled, “Commander Wolffe here has vouched for you.” She made it sound like they had all been permitted VIP status. All of the shinies were practically doubled over, I noticed. I didn’t blame them. She was unbelievably beautiful. “So here is the deal we all are busy tonight with appointments, but we’ll make sure each of you can try each of us. When we give the word, just follow us into the bathroom and tell us in clone slang what you want to do. We’ll make sure you have a night you’ll never forget.” I could tell the idiots were excited. It sounded like the kind of cheap porno script these guys would fantasize about. C.C.’s delivery was impressive.  
  
Our plan was that every time one of the girls took one of those morons into the bathroom for servicing, they would take their slang requests and do something ridiculous, like pour water on the crotch of the brother’s pants, or let him listen outside the stall door while she took a piss, or slapping him repeatedly in the forehead and asking him if it felt good in a sexy voice. Then the girls would charge them for these ‘sexual’ acts, telling them that it was what they’d asked for.  
  
The shinies thought it was some communication issue. Still, they were reluctant to admit what was happening because they were pretending to be sex experts. So they all paid for services ‘rendered’ because they didn’t want to seem ignorant or ungrateful. They asked me for the right words, but I would give them more fake ones and tell them that they were just pronouncing wrong. The girls just kept getting more absurd. At one point I saw a guy come out of the bathroom wearing a toilet paper hat.  
  
The boys were looking so confused. C.C. and I laughed all night. As their host connecting them with the girls, they were obligated to pay for my prostitute and drinks. So I drank for free and they paid for my own girlfriend to have sex with me. I almost felt bad for them, she was expensive.


End file.
